


guardian

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Series: what I believe in (is you) [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 11:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: John doesn't believe in spirit guides.





	guardian

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this breathtaking art](http://lintares.tumblr.com/post/158741619154/seriously-hes-cool-and-its-a-moment-when-i) by lintares. Please do check out their gorgeous works at [tumblr](http://lintares.tumblr.com) and [deviantart](http://lintares.deviantart.com), and give them all the love.

 

* * *

 

 

John doesn’t really believe in spirit guides, but he thinks he has something better.

It’s the soft voice in his ear, sometimes stern, sometimes snarky, but often fond, and always protective, guiding him to where he needs to be – and sometimes, when he needs it the most, what and who he needs to be.  The voice in his ear is more personal than that of a boss or a handler, more intimate than a friend or even a lover; it is his conscience, his moral compass, and his true North, all in one – as necessary as his own breath, an anchor without which he would be utterly lost in a maelstrom of his own shaky morals, the waves of his bloody past still threatening to pull him under.

It should terrify him, the way he has grown to rely completely on that voice, but instead it _liberates_ him – when he relinquishes all control and decision to a being of higher power and unshakeable morals, the closest thing to an all-powerful yet benevolent God that he has ever known, it’s the most free he has ever felt, the most he ever will be.

It’s not recklessness, he thinks, when he charges into the fray with nothing more than a gun in his hand and a voice in his ear.  There is more protecting his body than just a bullet vest, more surrounding him than the comrades he has unwittingly become a leader of; it’s the knowledge that he is and will always be _safe_ , and that for the first time, he knows that he will not die alone, not when there is always that voice that reassures him that there will _always_ be someone coming to save him.

It’s not blind faith.  It’s complete trust in the one person he knows will never leave him.  Not even when he’s the one who pushes him away.  The voice in his ear is often exasperated at him, but always stubborn in its insistence to always, _always_ be there for him, _with_ him, because as much as he begs to be left alone, as much as he insists that he is not worth saving or risking a life for, he is always secretly awed and thrilled when that voice in his ear metamorphs into something so utterly real, so utterly _human_ before him, his devotion returned in equal measure, if not more.

No, John doesn’t believe in spirit guides.  But in moments of lull and quiet, when he’s staking out a number or when he’s recuperating in his own bed, he closes his eyes and imagines himself surrounded by birds, each one a representation of the aliases he has come to know – partridge, wren, crane, crow, swift, gull, quail, starling, kingfisher, whistler, cardinal, ostrich, swan – and he treasures them all closely, greedily, hoarding as much as he can about the man he wants to know the most.  

He imagines, sometimes, tattooing these birds all over his body: a warning to those who want to hurt him, a reminder that he is never alone, and a mark of possession that he wants to declare as loudly and as vividly as possible: he is willingly, all-encompassingly _owned._

He thinks of tattooing a finch over his heart, a non-negotiable declaration to the only man he wants to kill for (though that voice will never let him), die for (though that voice won’t let him go through with it _alone_ ), and – most importantly – the only one he wants to _live_ for.

He closes his eyes and lets these birds surround him, the finch spreading its full wingspan to cover the breadth of his heart, and never has he felt more possessed, and yet so utterly, completely _loved_.

John doesn’t believe in spirit guides. He has something better.

He has Harold.

 


End file.
